


Day one: mortality/immortality

by Violet_Skys



Series: Moicy week oneshots [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 09:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15793785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violet_Skys/pseuds/Violet_Skys
Summary: Moira always thought she knew what it meant to be mortal. She never realized how wrong she was until mortality caught up with her.





	Day one: mortality/immortality

            It was almost funny. If her diaphragm was still intact, Moira might have laughed. It had been such a stupid mistake, parting from the team to chase that one, infuriating, cockroach who just wouldn’t die. She smirked at the corpse next to her. She’d gotten him. But the victory had been short lived when his buddy emptied a pulse rifle into her torso. Now, she was stuck staring the city’s polluted sky. Honestly, didn’t she deserve to die under at least one star? Moira bit her lip at the thought. She was the last person to deserve as peaceful a death as that.

            She’d thought about her death before. Everyone thinks about their death at some point or another. It’s not a happy thought, but everyone’s time comes eventually. Mortality is the curse of humanity.

            Sure, life can be extended. Death and aging are largely due to genetic decay. As DNA copies and recopies itself to make new cells and proteins, an amount of data that large is sure to lose something in the midst of all its transcription and translation. Bit by bit, your fundamental building blocks become increasingly unsteady and weak. But keep the information from getting lost and your life extends beyond its limit. Moira had always been certain she could remove humanity from that curse. But now, as she lay in a dank, musty alley that smelled of rot and week-old food scraps, she thinks she was wrong about mortality.

            In brevity, mortality is the quality of being able to die. If mortality meant death, what meant life? What does it mean to be alive? What makes humanity human? These were the questions that had drawn her to genetics, that made her into the world-renowned geneticist she was today. Sure, with every experiment, the questions took a different form, but they all led back to the same, fundamental curiosities she’d possessed as a child.

            But human life? She wasn’t blind to the fact genetics was only a single piece of a grand machine. The human body is made up of billions and billions of cells, half of which don’t belong to the body itself, a machine made of many parts and pieces that may not even be in the schematics. The parts perform their function and the machine suffers if they fail. But a human life isn’t just healthy bodily function. Thoughts and memories are an imperative of human life too.

            Well, thoughts and emotions are the result of receptors in the brain, electrical signals, and hormones. Like the waning adrenaline that was letting her nerves know exactly how bad the damage was. Simple as that. But certainly, something as complex as thought can’t be reduced to something so… mundane in comparison.

            And memory, the cold, unforgiving force that brought happiness, anger, and sorrow. How could she forget? She had so many of them. She frowned as she thought of the blonde head that barely poked out from under her quilt in the mornings, fussed at her for working too late and drinking too much coffee, and embraced her with open arms and a cup of tea after long, stressful days. There were many memories there.

What would she think when her body was discovered? Would she cry? Moira hoped not. Angela’s eyes were more suited to crinkling at the corners when she smiled, or the wide eyed curious expression she wore as she read Moira’s scientific journal over her shoulder in the evenings.

 For the first time since the incident, Moira felt guilty. She was the last person who wanted to make Angela sad. Perhaps the good doctor would have the sense not to cry over such a reckless woman.

            Moira started to sigh, but jolted as her lungs protested, sending her into an uncontrollable fit of coughing and wheezing. Collapsed lung perhaps. Whether from the shattered hardware of her equipment wrenched deep into her back, or a broken rib, she couldn’t tell. The world slowly became silent and her vision darkened at the edges.

            Moira watched the blurred, darkening clouds unfolded into a warm, gold light, embracing her with a light gust of wind. It felt nice, encouraging the exhaustion gently tugging at her eyelids. A hollow disappointment sank in her chest. She would never find her answer.

            _“Moira.”_

How ironic she would never answer the questions she’d spent her whole life pursuing.

            _“Moira!”_

Her humanity had caught her now. With a wry smile, she welcomed mortality and sank into its cold, unforgiving embrace.

 

            _“Helden Sterben Nicht!”_

\------------

            Moira was sore. So, incredibly, unbelievably, bafflingly, sore. Her chest hurt. It felt as though a small carpenter had raised scaffolding in the hollow of her torso to keep it standing upright and her body was fighting gravity to keep from folding upon itself. If this is what it was like to be a skyscraper, she was glad to be human.

            Moira felt a weight on her arm as she methodically determined how to unseal her eyes. Surely they must have been stitched shut, or it wouldn’t have felt so impossible to open them. But, with some amount of time, seconds, hours, perhaps days, her eyes opened, shakily. Turning her head, Moira found the source of the weight: A stringy haired blonde head that Moira seemed to recall peeking out from beneath a green quilt. A name came to mind. Angela.

            Moira tried to call her, but the only sound that came out was a strangled sounding breath. But that was all it took. Angela’s head shot up, wide eyes circled with dark bags. In an instant, the Swiss woman was sitting by her side, a warm hand resting at her cheek, the other carding through her hair.

            “Shh, shh. Don’t try to talk. Your lungs are still weak.”

Moira shifted slightly, remembering the scaffolding in her chest.

            “You’re probably confused.” Angela continued, moving the hand on Moira’s cheek to grip her hand. “The pain killers probably aren’t helping.”

Moira tested her fingers, fumbling slightly until she’d managed to grasp the hand Angela had given her. She was rewarded for her efforts with a smile.

            “Do you remember what happened? Squeeze once for yes, twice for no.”

What happened? Moira thought intently, fighting the fuzziness trying to pull her in other directions. The man she’d chased down. The one who rammed the butt of his gun into her back before firing into her chest. Moira squeezed the hand once. Angela gave a sigh of relief.

            “Good. We thought we were going to lose you, you know?”

Moira didn’t know how to answer that, but contentedly relaxed as the blonde woman stretched out on edge of the hospital bed, kissing her forehead before gently curling into her side.

            “You gave us all quite a scare. After you’re lucid, _schatzi,_ you and I are going to have a long chat about running off on your own. _Verstanden?_ ”

             Moira sleepily squeezed once before drifting to sleep with Angela’s laugh ringing pleasantly in her ear.


End file.
